Rancher's Proposition

He was a little more than halfway home when the thunderheads that had been threatening for hours unleashed their fury on the Badlands. Instead of the rain everyone had been praying for, hail pelted down from the clouds. Some of the chunks weren’t a bad size, but as the wind howled and the storm increased its ferocity, lumps the size of Ping-Pong balls slammed onto the truck and he had to pull off along the side of the road and wait it out. As soon as it abated, he returned to the road and drove home as fast as he dared. He was pretty sure Marty would have dropped Lyn off already and he wondered what she’d do, all alone in the night in a storm like this.

When he pulled the truck to a stop beneath the big pole light in the yard, he could see the dents in the hood from inside the truck. Lyn came out the door before the truck stopped and came down the walk to meet him, and he forced himself to act as unconcerned as she seemed to be. Then she said quietly, “I’m glad you’re back. I was worried.”

“You okay?”

She nodded.

He walked forward and examined the pits the hail had left on the finish of his pickup, fighting the relief that rushed through his system and feigning a casual attitude. “Oh, well. It looked too new anyway.”

Lyn smiled, although he noticed her small face was pale and strained. “Now that’s what I call a stretch to find the silver lining.” She pointed to the lavender gladiolus that had been in full bloom against the side of the porch, and he could see the strong stalks battered to the ground like fragile grasses. “Darn that hail. In the morning I’ll see if any of the glads can be saved as cut flowers. Might as well enjoy them if we can.”

He shook his head in admiration as he followed her up the walk and onto the porch. Why had he been worried about her? A lot of women would be upset to tears by the senseless destruction the hail had wrought. But Lyn had grown up here. She knew what to expect and how to handle it when tough things came along.

As he opened the door and motioned for her to precede him into the house, she cast a worried look outside.

“It’s so dry,” she said. “I was hoping this would be a good rain.”

“No such luck.” But he was as worried as she. “I’d better spend tomorrow plowing fireguards between the high grass and the east side of the house.” With things this hot and dry, fires could spring up from any number of things: stupid tourists flicking cigarettes out the window along the highway, a spark from a train or a piece of machinery or even a lightning strike. Some of the worst fires he’d ever fought growing up out here had been started by lightning.

The next day was as hot as the one before. The daytime temperatures hadn’t dropped below eight-five degrees for three weeks and the dry heat was getting to him.

Cal rode toward the house from the west pasture, bringing back four cows and calves he’d sorted out to sell. As he rode, he eyed the brittle grass and the dust that billowed from beneath the cattle’s hooves. The horizon rippled and blurred under the baking sun. He’d noticed the waterholes over west were lower than usual.

As he came around the southern end of the ridge, the house came into view. The thrill of being back hadn’t worn off yet, and he—

The sheriff’s car was bumping along the lane.

The sheriff’s car? Mild puzzlement replaced his pleasure. Now why would the sheriff be at his house?

The answer sprang into his head even as the question passed through and he hurried Tor, pushing the cattle past the house and into the big corral, and tied him within reach of the water trough with an apology for making him wait to get rid of the hot saddle.

He strode toward the house. The car was parked in the yard. Had they finally found Lyn’s ex-husband? He hoped so. And he sincerely hoped there’d come a day when he could have five minutes alone in a locked room with the bastard.

Five minutes was all it would take to pound him to a pulp and castrate him.

He took off his hat and slapped it against his leg to rid himself of some of the dust, absently noting the wear it was showing. Heck, he’d only had it for a few months. Time to buy a new one and keep this one for some of the nastiest work, like branding.

Opening the door, he stepped inside, enjoying the feel of the cooled air. Lyn wouldn’t let him turn the air-conditioning on often, but since mid-August, he’d noticed she hadn’t turned it off every time he left the house.

The lawman stood just inside the kitchen door with a second man in civilian clothes beside him. He turned when he heard the door open. “Hey, there, Cal.”

“Joe.” They’d gone to high school together, and he’d always liked the guy. “You got some good news for Lyn?”

A choking sound made him look across the kitchen. Lyn stood with her back to the sink. No, he corrected himself, Lyn was backed against the sink so tight she could have passed for one of the fixtures.

Her green eyes were wide and shocked-looking and her face was a pasty, ghastly white. He could practically smell fear in the cool kitchen air.

“What’s going on here?” His voice was less welcoming and he deliberately allowed a growl to work its way into the words. He didn’t know what the sheriff had said to frighten Lyn, but he already knew he didn’t like anybody coming into his house without warning and scaring her all to pieces.

Joe Parker cleared his throat, clearly choosing his words carefully. He gestured to the man with him. “This is Detective Biddle from the Pennington County Sheriff’s Department Office of Investigations.” Then he looked across the kitchen at Lyn. “Lyn Galloway is a suspect in the death of a man. I’ve come to take her to town to answer some questions.”

“You have the wrong woman,” Cal said flatly. “My housekeeper’s name is Lyn Hamill.”

“Her maiden name was Hamill. She was married to Wayne Galloway.” He turned to Lyn. “You didn’t tell him you had a husband?”

“I knew she had a husband. She’s been divorced for over a year.” Cal could feel fury bubbling its way to the surface, and he clamped down hard on it, knowing he had to stay focused. “She woke up in the hospital two months ago with no memory of anything in her recent past. She was beaten and there were finger marks around her neck. So you can tell her husband from me that if he’s the one who put them there, Cal McCall’s going to be looking for him.”

Joe held up a warning hand. “Don’t give me a reason to consider you a suspect, Cal.”

“A suspect in what?”

Joe lowered his hand slowly, rubbing the other over a jaw stubbled with golden beard, and Biddle spoke for the first time. His blue eyes were cool and assessing. “Wayne Galloway’s body was found in an apartment building in Rapid City last week. According to the landlord, this woman rented one of the apartments from him for the last year.” He turned to Lyn. “How long have you been living here?”

Lyn just stared at him.

“She’s been here for about two and a half months,” Cal said impatiently. “And before that, she was in a women’s shelter in Rapid after she was released from the hospital. I have the names of both places, along with her doctor and the director of the shelter.” He allowed himself the smallest smile of victory. “So she couldn’t have killed him. She hasn’t left the ranch without me or Silver since she got here, and then she hasn’t gone any farther than Kadoka.”

Biddle shook his head. “That isn’t going to matter,” he said coolly. “Whoever killed Galloway stuffed him into a closet in the basement of the building.” He paused. “The tenants have been complaining about an odor and somebody finally got annoyed enough to go hunting the source. Coroner says it looks like he’s been there awhile.”

“Jeez.” The stark recitation shook him, he wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t, and he saw Lyn’s instinctive recoil from the ugly vision.

“So I have to talk to Mrs. Gal—”

“Don’t call me that.” It was little more than a hoarse whisper, but both men turned to stare at the fragile-looking woman. Lyn spoke slowly, quietly, to the detective. “I don’t think— I’m pretty sure, I mean, that I didn’t kill anyone, but I don’t know that for sure because I can’t remember—”

“Lyn.” It was a single syllable but it served to halt the words tumbling from her lips.

She stopped speaking and turned to look at Cal.

“Don’t say another word until I call a lawyer.” He turned to Joe. “Are you arresting her?”

Joe looked shocked by the suggestion. “Heck, no, Cal, of course not. But she’s got to answer—”

“Then I’m asking you to leave. Unless you want to arrest her.” He looked at Biddle. “If you want to make an appointment to talk to her, I’ll have my attorney call your office.”

The sheriff regarded him in baffled frustration. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be, Cal.”

“I’m asking you to leave,” Cal repeated, ignoring the glowering detective. He held out a hand to Lyn. “I need your help in the barn.”

As if she were a flimsy iron filing and he the magnet, Lyn lurched across the room and took his outstretched hand in a grip so tight he could feel her fingernails digging into his flesh. He transferred her small palm to his other hand and put his arm around her, leaving the two men to find their own way out as he swept her out of the house and across the yard.

As they walked, he was conscious of the slender body beneath his arm, the way her rounded breasts heaved as she took deep gasps of air, the way the soft flesh of her hip brushed his with every step they took. He hated himself for his body’s preoccupation with hers, but he was powerless to do anything about it. He’d been fighting a losing battle with attraction—and arousal—for weeks.

He’d been unable to ignore her from the very beginning. Though she’d quietly insinuated herself into the daily routine, taking over the care of the house so quickly and so well that he was grateful every time he stepped through the door, he’d been fascinated by her heavy mane of red curls, her fair skin, the curves she acquired as her slender body regained some weight.

One day he’d walked into the kitchen while she was stretching on tiptoe for a vase to arrange some wildflowers she’d brought in. It was back on the shelf just far enough to be out of her reach.

“I’ll get it,” he’d said, and without thinking, he had walked across the kitchen and put a casual hand on her hip while he’d reached over her head for the vase. The moment he’d felt her slim, fragile body pressed against his, the mild arousal he’d been feeling from time to time had come back tenfold. He’d been so astonished at his body’s bold response that he’d thrust her away from him and gotten the heck out of the kitchen, too flustered to talk to her.